Bonzi High: A Bonzi Buddy Fanfiction
by KiaraTheBrave
Summary: Bonzi Buddy is a new student at High School High, and he struggles to find friendship, peace, and mayhaps love (in all the wrong places). Tensions kick off when he aggravates the captain of the Curling team. Contains elements from: Bonzi Buddy, Microsoft, Chivalry, Star Trek, every High School that has ever graced the face of this earth.
1. Say Hi to Bonzi

**Prologue:**

Bonzi Buddy was created in 1999 by an ancient wizard bearing the name 'Bonzi Software.' His purpose was a simple one; to create and develop friendships with all of mankind using the most sophisticated creations imaginable. Throughout his life, Bonzi Software slaved and toiled in his lair so that he might make the perfect organism. After numerous failures and disasters which nearly cost him his life, Bonzi Software finally succeeded in his plan, and Bonzi Buddy was introduced into the world. The wizard's time was short, however, and in 2004 he was forced to relinquish his possession of Bonzi due to the wizard's incapability as a father. Without employment under the wizard, the young Bonzi was forced to the streets for several years, scavenging for food and sustenance, often providing services to people he encountered in his travels. He eventually came to the realization that, in order to make a proper living in a world without his wizard father, he would require a formal education. Due to his brief time served as the servant and son of Bonzi Software, Bonzi Buddy scored extremely high on the mental assessment tests given him, and he was allowed to skip directly to High School High, a school located in central Minnesota.

**Chapter 1: Say Hi to Bonzi**

Bonzi opened his locker and picked up several English textbooks, which he would need for the upcoming classes. The first few months had been difficult for Bonzi; he struggled to fit into this strange new environment, both socially and educationally. In Bonzi's education, there was no need for such trivial things such as English, Science, Math, or Social Studies. The ability to create long-lasting and beautiful friendships with people was the only thing he ever needed to know. Bonzi felt as though the people at High School High were taken aback by his extreme aptitude for aggressive friend-making. Bonzi theorized that it might take some time, but they would all eventually become his best Bonzi Buddies.

As Bonzi Buddy closed his locker, he looked into his gorilla-like facial complexion, he happened to glance upon Megan walking behind him. _Wanna hang out sometime?_ he attempted to ask, but Bonzi found himself frozen in place, incapable of saying anything beyond "Well hello there." Every fiber of his being yearned to convey the emotions he felt for her, but Bonzi could only speak in the most basic of pleasantries. He first met Megan in his Intro to English class, the only respite he could find from the daily grind that is this life. Megan was one of the most beautiful women he had ever met, with a strong, ox-like 4'11" frame and the eyes of a chameleon. Bonzi wanted nothing more than to ask her out to a romantic evening at the High School High Curling game, but courting was never in the approved Bonzi Buddy learning regime. _All I need is this one friend, and then the Bonzi Buddies will flock to me like an angry swarm of bears to a small geyser of honey..._

With gusto, Bonzi slicked back his unkempt purple hair and turned to approach Megan. Instead, he wheeled about to find none other than Steve, captain of the High School High Curling team. To either side stood Goon and Biff, his two cohorts in curling.

"Well, well, well," said Steve, a man whose intense muscles strained the fabric of his letterman's jacket. "If it isn't Bonzi CRUDDY."

"Yeah, good one boss," Goon said, eager to impress his leader. "Right, Biff?"

"Yeah, Bonzi, you fucking loser dickweed virgin faggot."

After Biff's outburst, there was an extensive moment of silence. The entire hallway stood still for a moment in pure awe. Bonzi was especially offended by Steve's remark, as it used his own name as a tool against him. In this school, his name is often the only source of solace he is able to find, and now Steve and his impressive curling skills placed his identity at risk. _For many, a name is merely a title, given only as a piece of identification,_ thought Bonzi, _but to me, Bonzi Buddy is a way of life, the ultimate goal of my existence in this corporeal universe_. As the hallway resumed normal flow, Bonzi missed his opportunity to ask Megan to the curling match. His despair at having missed this window was cut short by Steve and his cronies. Steve shoved Bonzi and sent him stumbling backwards into the locker.

"You gonna say somethin', Bonzi MUDDY?" he said in a rather patronizing tone.

Steve had driven the professional friend-maker to his limits with constant belittlement and slander against his good name. Bonzi gathered his courage, preparing the greatest comeback he could muster. After some seconds of searching, he remembered the ultimate tool for defending oneself against a formidable foe such as Steve. He could assert his dominance with a strong enough insult that could destroy the morale of Steve and send Bonzi Buddy rocketing to the top of the popularity chain, fulfilling his greatest friend-making dreams in the process. This was his golden moment, and he opened his wide, banana-eating mouth to release a torrent of retribution:

"Would you like to hear a joke?" Before the gang could reply, Bonzi continued with his ultimate comeback. "What goes up but never comes down?" _This is perfect_, thought the small high school student, whose body vaguely resembled that of a primate. _Steve will be stumped by my riddle, causing an extreme case of public embarrassment. He will have no choice but to declare me as his better. In response, I shall accept his surrender and indoctrinate him into the approved list of Bonzi Buddies._

Steve, a master of riddles, instantly replied "Your age?" This caused Bonzi to become flustered. He had not expected Steve to correctly answer this question he has posed. But now he had nothing with which to reply, and he did not wish to give Steve the satisfaction of thwarting Bonzi's riddle.

Bonzi gathered his courage and replied "No, your balls," and launched his short, hairy leg upwards with such speed that it broke the sound barrier. The super-limb found purchase in the testicles of Steve, sending them rocketing into orbit. Steve instantly doubled over, but managed to remain standing due to his amazing curler's legs. Goon and Biff carried Steve down the hallway and to safety, away from Bonzi Buddy.

"We're gonna get you for this, Bonzi CRUDDY," Goon said, near tears at the injury of his master.

"Yeah, you horse-shit eating fuckwit. Oi'll stick me' thumbs in your blumen eye sockets when next I see ya," Biff chimed in.

With the assailants gone, Bonzi felt both relieved and distraught. He knew that, before long, Steve would have retrieved his testicles from space and would be back for vengeance. But for now, Bonzi relished in his victory. As he was sitting there, figuratively stroking his ego, the late bell went off, and he realized with dread that he would not be able to make it to his English class on time.


	2. Smoke Bonzi Every Day

As the sun began its descent towards the horizon, the emplaced time keeper placed on the classroom wall ticked away the final seconds of the school day. Bonzi, having a fond adoration for the educational system and the friendships that it brings, decided to visit the library in the hopes of both working on a research paper and perhaps finding a few life-long companions. The student slung his backpack over his shoulder and walked to the archive of novelized knowledge, his long and hairy arms hovering mere inches above the ground.

Opening the door, Bonzi was greeted by a wave of smoke, filling his nostrils with a strange, exotic odor. Before him, several knights belonging to the Dank Order of Saint Doobie were standing at the entrance desk, speaking to the librarian. The smoke billowed out of their closed visors, contaminating the air with the smell of kush.

"I command thee again, knave, grant us entrance to this sacred place of tomes!" proclaimed the most intimidating knight, a rather large joint protruding from a slit in his helmet.

The elderly librarian behind the counter scoffed at their request, vigorously stamping the return date on a book numerous times. In a quick motion, the book manager chugged a small flask of some potent smelling liquor while stroking his magnificent Russian beard. "I tell you once again, comrade, I am not to be letting you into my library."

The Dank Knight-Commander was clearly displeased by the response. "You are not the traditional book-keeper. Speak of his location, you rump-faced flap-dragon, or I shall smite thee!" Raising his hand, the leader rammed his armored fist into a nearby wall, shrieking "To me, lads! Form rank!" The nearby group of soldiers then scrambled to form a single line behind their gloriously stoned commander.

The man behind the counter, armed with the standard issue Librarian Balls o' Steel, merely grumbled. "There is to being no way of you entering this holy ground," the man stated as he took another swig of liquor.

The knights released a unanimous cry of anger. The commander assumed an authoritative stance and pointed directly at the librarian. "I, Sir Doobius VI, do hereby declare a Holy War in the name of Saint Doobie the Stoned. To arms, lads!" With that, the armored brigade stormed past Bonzi Buddy and into the hall, presumably to rally their forces. As they passed, Bonzi received a wave of what smelled like the excretion of a frightened skunk.

Ignoring the chivalric clique, Bonzi walked up to the now-drunk librarian and greeted him with a hearty "Well hello there."

The librarian rapidly blinked his eyes in surprise upon seeing the sight that is Bonzi Buddy. "Who the hell are you, comrade? You're not one of the dope-smokers, are you?"

Bonzi, not entirely sure what the large Russian meant, merely said "I'm Bonzi! What is your name?"

The inebriated Communist waved his arms in disapproval. "Get out of my face, fool. I have no need of your friendship."

This dealt a crippling blow to Bonzi, whose primary goal in coming to the library had been to make a friend. Hanging his head, Bonzi walked through the main room of the library to a row of computers available for research. He pressed the power button on the computer, and gumly stared at the desktop screen that appeared after a brief wait of fifteen minutes, unwilling to partake in any of the research needed for his project. Rejection, as Bonzi saw it, was one of the worst events one could experience during the course of life. Just as he sat up, deciding to abandon his research and begin the long trek home, he bumped into a slender, burnished figure.

"I see you're trying to make friends. Would you like help?" Bonzi realized that the entity before him was none other than Mr. Clippy, his English teacher and one of the few friends he had made during his time at High School High. Bonzi found that the advice and friendship of Clippy was often the only guidance he received in his otherwise bleak existence.

Bonzi thought of his options. _It would seem that I could: let him assist in friend-making, make friends without help, or don't show me this tip again._ Puzzling over this for some time, the small, primate-like student held up a single finger, the universal symbol for the first option given three to choose from.

Clippy looked satisfied with Bonzi's response. "It looks like you're going to let me help you. Would you like help?" Bouncing onto a nearby computer chair, the teacher pulled up an eBay listing for a Russian nesting doll before turning to his student and winking several times. Bonzi looked at the item for sale and noted that each doll was an important member of Russian history, including Vladimir Putin, Josef Stalin, and Vladimir Lenin. He quickly purchased the set for the low one-time price of 3,839 rubles. Bonzi Buddy then printed out the purchase receipt and waddled over to the front desk to pay for it.

The librarian slid the printed page over to Bonzi as he approached the desk, giving the student a vicious scowl as he did so. "I am to be believing that this is for you. You shall be charged 6.40 rubles for this," he said as vodka dripped through his withered grey beard. The friendly but misunderstood student took the paper and slid it back towards the drunkard.

"Ach! Is this being for me? I used to have one very similar as a child. My mamushka whittled it for me out of the bones of my father. It was a good time to be me that day. My mamushka said to me 'Nikolai, I give this gift to you that you might remember your father, who died operating a Katyusha when his shoelace got caught on a rocket being fired into the Reichstag. May you vanquish many fascists with this.' I thank you, small purple-haired comrade. I shall now and forever call you a friend of old Nikolai."

"Drink responsibly, comrade," said the old Russian as Bonzi turned to leave the library, happy that he had found a new friend. Foregoing any attempt to work on the research paper, the professional friend-maker left the school in the direction of his home. Before he could exit the school's parking lot, however, he heard what seemed like a bicycle's chime. Turning around, Bonzi found that Mr. Clippy was behind him.

"It looks like you're trying to get home. Would you like help?" Familiar with his options of either accepting the transportation, rejecting it, or don't show this tip again, the student chose the first option, accepting the teacher's offer of a ride and beginning the journey home with a member of his now greater collective of friends. As he left school property, Bonzi noticed several men wearing plated armor pushing a catapult through the outdoor curling field. Judging from their trajectory, they were headed for the High School High Library.


	3. Bonzi Trek: Voyager

Phase Two of OPERATION: TESTICULAR CONVALESCENCE was a go. Steve, world-renowned curler and the sole agent on this government-sanctioned mission, detached his shuttlecraft from the thrusters that successfully sent him out of Earth's atmosphere. The athlete, having played with the President of the United States in several curling matches, knew that acquiring the proper equipment for space travel would be an easy task; it would be much more difficult, however, to locate and reattach his testicles in the expansive vacuum of space. _I don't care if I spend the next sixty years searching this solar system_, thought Steve_, I _will_ find my scrotum-spheres, and then I'll be back to destroy Bonzi CRUDDY_.

The professional curler looked around the control panel until he found the activation switch for the Testicular Scanner Pro-X9000 (by Hasbro). Upon flipping the switch, a small screen blinked to life and began the search for manhood. Knowing that the initial scan might take some time, Steve turned on the intergalactic radio. The only station available to his small craft, however, was Enterprise Radio, which eternally played "Faith of the Heart" by Russell Watson. Though excruciating to listen to, the curler endured, waiting for the report to come in. The tune, which initially made him wish to smash his face through the wall of his small craft, began to seem more appealing, to the point where Steve actively hummed along.

Being so mesmerized by the singing of Russell Watson, the agent did not notice the flashing warning node, indicating that the magnetic frequency configuration had been altered during the mission. As a result, the ship lost its capacity to maintain its search pattern, and a nearby phasic neutrino phenomenon began to drag the ship toward its deadly center. The sudden change in direction brought Steve out of his state of bliss, and he realized with horror that the ship was no longer operable. Without the ability to maneuver the pod, he would careen into the entity and dissipate in the phenomenon, foiling his plans of revenge against his friend-making foe.

Without overly thinking, Steve began preparing for evacuation. After getting into his 1960's A7L Spacesuit, the testicle-lacking man stripped the ship of several floor panels. On these he hoped to sustain himself for at least an additional week as he continued the search for his twin bouncy balls. He also grabbed an oxygen tank, which he subsequently emptied of all contents. Into this empty container he placed his prized Lego collection, where they would be safe from any external forces. Finally, Steve grabbed a rather lavishly framed photo of Bonzi Buddy, which he had decided to keep in his presence at all times as a reminder of the curler's ultimate goal.

The ice-based shuffleboard player proceeded to cartwheel into the door of the pod, knocking it open and releasing the oxygen in the shuttlecraft. Steve, free of the doomed ship, watched with awe as it drifted into the phenomenon. Upon reaching the edge of the cloud, the ship collapsed into itself, forming an intensely strong temporal singularity. Steve, being in relative proximity to the occurrence, was sucked into the rift, sending him through space and time to a distant land in the far future.

Steve emerged from the rift feeling rather dazed and confused, but he realized upon collecting his senses that he was falling towards the surface of a planet. Having studied several years of mechanical physics, Steve knew that entry into the planet's atmosphere would mean certain death. In order to avoid such an event, the curler would have to act at just the right moment. Gripping his Lego-filled oxygen canister with all his might, Steve bided his time until the heat of his descent began to wear away at his suit. Issuing forth a loud grunt, Steve curled the container with all of his might, throwing his prized Lego collection down towards the surface of the planet at an incredible speed.

So great was the upward reaction from his heroic curl that his descent slowed to a peaceful crawl. Steve felt as though he were a dainty leaf during his gradual fall to the surface. He could now see the environment below, a swampy region full of vegetation and wildlife. As he approached the surface, Steve found that strange creatures lurked below; several gigantic salamanders were gathered in a circle around his landing spot. _Oh bugger_, thought Steve, _Even with my amazing curler's talent, there's no way I could possibly stand against so many foes_. The salamander creatures eyed the man as he reached the end of his fall, hitting the ground with a sound similar to that of an inflated balloon striking a small child.

Before any of the creatures could react, the spry human positioned himself in the curler's official combat pose, a symbol of death to any who dare challenge it. The giant amphibians did not initiate mortal combat, but instead continued to stare at this new presence. Steve, confused but ever ready for a surprise, did not let his guard down. In an act that surprised the curler, the salamanders bowed their heads, a very difficult action considering the proximity of their heads to the ground.

"We wish you greetings, Holy One," one of the salamanders proclaimed. "We wish you welcome to Salamanland."

Steve was shocked to hear the voice of these creatures. _How can they speak English? Why do they refer to me as a 'Holy One'?_ Though their initial words seemed friendly, Steve had enough experience in the subterfuge of curling to know that looks could be deceiving. "Who are you, and why can you speak?"

The lead salamander, who wore a crown atop his flat head, spoke up in response. "We are Salamans, a peaceful race of people with a deep reverence for what you might call 'human life.' Some time ago, our ancestors were born of an ill-fated love; the two Creators, Kathryn Janeway and Tom Paris, descended to this world after detaching from the God of the Eternal Blue Sky, Tengri, in the form you currently hold. They, however, saw this dark, flawed world and knew their perfection was not meant to grace its surface. Taking the form of large salamander-like creatures, the two began a peaceful existence on the planet.

"The two Creators ruled over the land for some time, guiding the local life on its gradual search for complexity. It wasn't long before the two supernatural beings fell madly in love, however, and they consummated their love in the spot on which you are currently standing, Holy One. Shortly after the birth of our forefathers, the Creators were called back to the Land Above by other eternal beings. Their time here was brief, but their impact on the development of this world was significant. The Creators also left behind a small device with records of their language, knowledge, and adventures, from which we prospered. The children they left behind developed over time, resulting in the race you see before you."

Steve had not expected such a response. His species was evidently held as some kind of deity, something which he could use to his advantage. "Where are you from, O Lord?" the leader asked when Steve did not respond to their story.

"Well," started the curler, rather confused on where to go from here, "I come from a land called Earth, the homeworld of the Creators. I was actually out in space looking for my lost testicles whe-"  
The mutant amphibians released a unanimous gasp, cutting off the near-flawless athlete. "You are the one the prophecy foretold would arrive one day," said the elder. "The ancients who read from the sacred device told of a Creator who would arrive one day seeking the Testicles of Power. The Testicles, as we believe, drifted through space for many years before being received by the Borg, a powerful faction seeking the creation of a perfect man-machine hybrid. Their spacecraft originally consisted exclusively of cubes, but after the Testicles of Power were assimilated into their collective, they developed spherical ships, which posed a much greater threat to nearby peoples.

"A small Salaman task force was sent in to take the Holy Testicles from the Borg, as we had received intelligence claiming that they were sacred relics belonging to a Creator. Several of our greatest soldiers were slaughtered in the fight for the orbs, but the team ultimately escaped from the automatons with the sacred relics. They have been held here, on this planet, for many a year, serving as both a religious symbol and a symbol of hope, for one day we knew that a Creator would detach from the God of the Eternal Blue Sky and descend to our people so that the spheres may be recollected. Follow me, and you shall receive your masculinity."

The religious salamander-human hybrids formed a single-file line and began to slither off down a dirt path. Wanting to fit in with the amphibian crowd, Steven got on his belly and crawled forward using only the tips of his toes and the palms of his hands. Though uncomfortable, the curler gained a new insight on life as perceived by these zealot salamanders. Being in such a close proximity to the creatures, Steve noticed that on the left tuckus of each salamander in the line was tattooed with an image of two salamanders engaged in beautiful and passionate intercourse.

The two lovers each bore a halo above their flat heads, indicating that they were holy persons, perhaps even Janeway and Paris. Above the two flew an image of the eternal white goose that is Tengri. In the image, the Sky-Father watched over the love-lizards, ensuring that their procreation bear the fruit of children. In doing so, Tengri ushered in the Age of the Salaman, bringing into power a species far more advanced than mere humans. _These people view me as a part of Tengri's religious entity_, thought Steve. _I can probably use this to my advantage; they will likely follow me in any quest, and they have the technology to get me into space. If I can just travel back in time with them, they can assist me in destroying Bonzi MUDDY._

The convoy of salamanders eventually reached a clearing, in which a small structure stood. Steve rose from his crawling position to investigate the premises. Ancient stone blocks served as the building material for the site, and a strong roof of Mighty Putty hung over the interior. Etched onto the wooden entrance was a glorious white goose representing the Sky-Father Tengri's divine protection of the premises. The mere sight of such a holy place nearly drove Steve to his knees, but he was able to resist the feeling of weakness through the sheer strength of his curler's legs. His amphibious companions uttered a short prayer in His name and opened the door.

The interior of the religious structure was occupied only by a golden pedestal, upon which two glorious orbs stood. Steve strolled through the door, picked up the objects, and placed them within his tighty-whiteys. The testicles automatically, attracted to the effective nuclear charge of his crotch, fused themselves directly beneath the phallus, making the curling prodigy a complete man once more. _With the added power of my bollocks, I might just be able to defeat that Bonzi CRUDDY_.

Turning to his Salamander-like companions, he bellowed a battle cry. "Will you provide assistance in to quest to destroy those who stand against me?" he asked the quadrupedal leader, hoping for a chance to defeat the illustrious Bonzi.

"We will provide whatever assistance you wish, O Holy One," the amphibian replied. "We possess technology far beyond what you may be used to. In fact, our vessels have developed the ability to time travel, so we can take you back in time and provide assistance in your conquest."

"Excellent."


	4. Let's Get Down to Bonzi

For a moment, Dimitri the librarian just stood there. He knew the upcoming battle would be a bloodbath, but he also knew that letting the vile-smelling armor-clad ruffians enter these holy grounds would be an affront to the lord Stalin. Dimitri looked about and saw his newly trained "recruits" hastily fortifying the library. The conscripts were simply stacking books to create barricades near the windows and doors. _Poor fools_, thought Dimitri as he walked across a balcony overlooking the library, _these brave Russian students will surely be meeting their demise_. His thoughts continued to stray to such depressing matters, but his better judgement told him to simply… let it go. _Let it go,_ Dimitri thought, _I am being one with the wind and sky._

Over the clamour of book stacking and paper mache, the voice of Dimitri's mortal foe, Sir Doobius VI could be heard. "Let's get down to business, lads, to defeat the Russians," he cried, his giant armor-plated gauntlet holding a rather large torch of hemp. "Did they send me daughters to siege this settlement, or did they send me sons? You lot are the saddest bunch I've ever met, but you would be correct in betting that, before we're through, I will have made men out of you." The men clamoured a unanimous roar of comradery at his speech of heroism.

Sir Doobius then continued. "Saint Doobie will have me made king for this glorious victory. And I shall be a mighty king, so enemies beware!"

A rather scrawny, feeble man near the leader murmured something close to "Well, I've never seen a king of beasts with quite so little hair," referring of course to Sir Doobius' most harrowed secret; his testicles were completely hairless.

Sir Doobius struck the man aside the head with his heavily-plated gauntlet, replying "There'll be no weed rations for you this next week. Anyway, let it be stated in the Great Records of the Order of Saint Doobie that I, Sir Doobius VI, simply cannot wait to be king."

One of the squires towards the front of the crowd shouted "But sir, what will our next move be following the siege?"

At this, Sir Doobius gave out a hearty laugh. "Next, squire, we shall be going under da sea, of course! There we shall seek a long-lost relic sacred to our order. With such an item, we shall be a single step closer to complete dominion over the feeble world of man. And know, my dear fellows, that it is better down where it's wetter! Take it from me! After we have expanded our control using this relic, we shall usher in a whole new world, a new fantastic point of view. Once we have achieved this, there'll be no one to tell us 'no' or where to go."

Another voice rose from the crowd. "But what of the heretics, m'lord? What shall we do about them?"

Yet another weed-filled chuckle came from their overlord. "Why, I'll chase them anywhere. There's time to spare. But I can assure you, boys, that the enemy shall be vanquished!" Another ferocious roar of agreement came from the crowd. This was the last straw for Dimitri; the librarian knew he had to speak up.

"You are to be thinking you are owning whatever land you are landing on, the Earth is being just a dead thing you can be claiming. But I am to be knowing that every rock, and tree, and creature within this union is to be having a life, is to be having a spirit, is to be having a name."

The knight rose up in reply. "Take a look, brother, within a book. The Prophecy states that the Dank Order will reign supreme and found a might empire!"

"Ach! Like the mighty Battle of Berlin, in which my father was lost his life in being a Katyusha-related incident, we shall be victorious over you filthy mu'daks!"

"Hmm, it's a small world after all. A long-lost kin of mine also lost their life in the Battle of Berlin. Oddly enough, he perished in a Katyusha rocket barrage. It would appear that there is more to this conflict than mere territorial gain, you mosquito-buggering basket-cockle. I look forward to meeting you on the field of battle!"

"And I shall be remembering this conversation when our glorious tools destroy your forces in a single stroke. I shall be keeping this close, indeed. In fact, you might be willing to be saying that you, and your foolish words, will be being in my heart." With that, the two faction leaders turned their backs to each other and returned to their men, eager to face the other in the upcoming battle.


	5. The Bonzifather: Part II

Bonzi walked out of his classroom as the school day ended, his ape-ish arms clutching schoolbooks to his bosom. The student was falling behind on his homework, and though he had made a close friend in the greasy, alcoholic librarian that was Dimitri, Bonzi still had made no progress on the research paper he had originally set out to write. Clippy, one of the few approved Bonzi Buddies the student held dear to his heart, had not been of much assistance, either. Bonzi had tried discussing a possible topic to investigate, but the normally helpful professor simply asked over and over again if he needed any help with research. _Mayhaps,_ the small being thought, _I can discuss the issue with Dimitri, my dear friend, and we may then conquer the project together!_

The library, however, was not the place he had remembered it to be. the computers had all been smashed, with empty bottles of vodka protruding from the monitors. All around the large depository of inscribed knowledge, weary and down-trodden students bustled as barricades were built near the edge of the premises. The soft hum of Russian choir music rang throughout the building, and it took Bonzi a moment to realize that the students were actively singing the national anthem of the long-dead Soviet Union as they went about their various tasks, preparing for the oncoming struggle. Posters littered the walls of the High School High library, all with anti-Dank Order propaganda. An image of Dimitri pointing at the viewer while drinking a swig of vodka with the inscription "You are to be fighting for freedom, comrade" was common. They did little to improve the morale of the conscripts, however, who lumbered around as if on the point of depression.

_Slaves are the most easy to befriend,_ Bonzi thought cheerily as he strolled towards the nearest potential companion; however, he did not see the thick, hairy leg of Dimitri in front of him until he bumped into it. The massively alcoholic bookkeeper was wearing a pair of denim shorts underneath a dark brown trench coat. His curled beard was dripping with what Bonzi assumed to be alcohol, and his cheeks were a deep beet-red. "Well hello there," Bonzi said, eager to greet his friend and begin a new social interaction.

"Greetings, my good friend," Dimitri said in his best attempt at an enthusiastic voice. It was clear, however, that the man was in no way cheerful. "It is good to be seeing you. We are to be preparing for the onslaught of the capitalist dogs, and it is good to be seeing some happy faces around here. Our men, our brave Russian exchange students, are laying down their lives in defense of their Mother Library, but it is a heavy burden to be carrying on their tiny shoulders. Not even their daily vodka rations are to be helping with the state of affairs around here." Shaking his head, he took a flask from the inside of his coat and took a long, deep drink.

Bonzi was about to bring up the subject of his research paper, but Dimitri gave him no room to speak. "You see, comrade," he began, slipping his drink back into his pocket, "the morale of the great Soviet peoples must be kept at a high level by people like you. My dear Bonzi comrade, you are to being one of my closest friends here at the High School High. Every morning I take up the doll you are having to have purchased me and I am to be planting big wet sloppy Russian kiss on it." He glanced around wearily at the rest of the library, and a few men picked up and stared back at him. "Comrade Bonzi, you must be knowing that I am to being one of your biggest comrades." The men were now slowly walking towards Bonzi. The rising sense of dread filled the spritely student's body.

The Russian librarian sighed. "Unfortunately, dear Bonzi, I am not to be letting you leave this library alive. Your friend-making powers are needed to keep our men happy in the face of the capitalist onslaught." The conscripts had now surrounded Bonzi, and it became apparent to him that one of his better friends had betrayed him. "I am to being sorry, comrade," Dimitri whispered as the group of students closed around him, throwing a burlap sack over his head. The bag closing around his head hid Bonzi's tears at being tricked by his Russian companion.


	6. Bonzi: Total War

When the sack was finally removed from Bonzi's head, he was barely able to stand on his own two abnormally-short feet; the constant prodding and shoving of the conscripted students made his balance (and robust friend-making energy) drop considerably. Becoming aware of his surroundings, Bonzi found that he was in a dimly lit room, lined on all sides with military equipment. Pilotkas, vomit-green infantry uniforms, Mosin Nagant carbines, boxes of ammo, and bottles of vodka were all arranged in orderly stacks on each side of the room. In front of the captive stood Dimitri, who had since placed a black ushanka atop his hardened Soviet head. Two young-looking students stood to either side of him. They each looked more hard-faced than those Bonzi had seen preparing defenses around the library's perimeter. "You are to being welcome in the Soviet army, comrade" Dimitri said, his arms outstretched. "Ivan, Vlad, present him with his infantryman equipment!"

The two warriors stepped closer to their new recruit, each presenting to him a portion of his equipment. One held the disgusting-looking combat fatigues, while the other held out a Soviet bolt-action rifle and a box of ammo clips. Atop the box was a metal flask containing a meagre serving of pure vodka. Now that they were closer, Bonzi could discern that the people were heavily scarred, and one had a sinuous mark travelling across his face and over his right eye. The other was missing a large chunk of his cheek, and one of his shoulders appeared completely slack; he evidently held no control over one arm.

Dimitri obviously noted Bonzi's look of shock. "I am to be noticing that you are to be noticing the battle wounds of my comrades. Ivan lost one of his eyes attempting to stave off one of the initial assault parties. They were just meaning to probe for weakness, but Ivan made sure they would not be reporting back." He chuckled warmly, but Ivan's facial expression was one of pure emptiness. "Vlad over there lost a part of his face and control of his arm in the process of building our top secret weapons. If you will be to grabbing your equipment, I will be showing you."

Bonzi took the clothing and equipment from the two men and fell in behind Dimitri, who led him out of the room and into the main floor of the library. The Russian exchange students had finished stacking novel-based defenses and were gathering towards the far end of the library, though a few men were left behind to warn of enemy movement. Among the group that Dimitri was heading towards, students appeared to be placing newspaper in a kind of paste and applying it to a larger object, made invisible by the growing crowd. As Dimitri and Bonzi approached, some of the students noticed the presence of their commander and stepped aside. More men soon followed, and by the time Dimitri stood before the group, they were divided in two, revealing the objects they had been working before the Soviet forces were two vehicles.

"Comrade Bonzi," Dimitri said, turning to face his newest conscript, "may I be presenting to you our finest creations. Through the sheer willpower of my comrades, and a few encouragements here and there, we are having constructed a paper mache T-34/85 armored tank and a Katyusha rocket artillery vehicle. With these secret weapons, there is to being no way of stopping us." Repeatedly raising his arms over his head, Dimitri raised his soldiers into a battlecry. He then began running around the circle of men, giving each man a high-five and a swig of his personal vodka rations. Knowing Dimitri's extremely alcoholic nature, Bonzi saw this as an act of extreme generosity.

Bonzi was awed. Previously one of his greatest Bonzi Buddies, Dimitri had an affinity for the texts of his establishment; it had been this adoration that led to the current conflict, from what Bonzi could tell. Dimitri refusing the entrance of the Dank Order the other day in an attempt to protect sacred texts seemed evidence enough that the Slavic drunk was willing to defend his readings to the death. That he was willing to destroy writings to create powerful weapons of war meant that he did not believe his men capable of defending the walls themselves. This put a sense of fear in Bonzi; it seemed to him that not even his supreme friend-making capabilities could sway the outcome of the upcoming battle.

Dimitri's celebrations were cut short when the loud blast of a horn penetrated the cheers of the quasi-slaves. Everything in the High School High Library seemed frozen. Even Dimitri was stuck in the middle of a high-five. The horn sounded again, and this time it served to break the Russian librarian from his trance. "You are to be manning the defenses, comrades!" he shouted, and soldiers rushed to retrieve their rifles and ammunition. Bonzi waddled to the nearest book-walled window, dropping everything but his Mosin Nagant and ammunition as he traveled. The smaller-than-average student did not think there would be time to don his vomit-brown uniform before the assault began, and alcoholic drinks were not an adequate method of acquiring Bonzi Buddies.

Outside, Bonzi saw a massive horde of soldiers, many armored in gleaming plated steel. Despite it being midday, torches made of condensed marijuana infested the camp, creating a cloud over the army. The smell of dank kush could be smelled by Bonzi, standing over three hundred cubits away. Over a dozen catapults, three trebuchets, and a battering ram were arrayed around the Knights of the Dank Order, and it became apparent why Dimitri developed the paper-based armored vehicles. Despite knowing very little on the arts of war - Bonzi was always one to focus on friendship instead - the extremely social student knew there was little hope of winning this battle.

A single armored man, galloping forward on a hobby horse, turned to face his hotboxed soldiers. "Today we face the Russians," he bellowed for all to hear. "Those inbred Slavic curs think they can win by hiding behind a few feet of defensive wall. Our siege equipment will batter down their palisades and allow us to achieve glory in the name of Saint Doobie!" With that, the massed army let out a unanimous roar, and Bonzi knew there would be no surviving this fight.

Galloping down the front rank of soldiers, the Sir Doobius VI continued. "Our foes thiink they can overpower us with their superior ranged units. No matter! Our infantry will cut them down like the foul scut they are. I have never lost a fight against these foes, and I'll be buggered if I'm starting today. Not all of you will survive this day, but fight with honor, and I shall share my cannabis with the victors!" With a final roar, the armored soldiers began their march forward.


End file.
